


They're Advertising in the Skies (For People Like Us)

by zubeneschamali



Series: Cyberpunk [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Body Modification, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-18 19:16:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14858679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zubeneschamali/pseuds/zubeneschamali
Summary: Jensen's gotten outside the system and managed to survive, thumbing his nose at the all-powerful conglomerates with the help of his augmentations. But a chance hookup with a stranger from a club makes him rethink everything, and suddenly he's facing a decision he never thought he'd have to make.





	They're Advertising in the Skies (For People Like Us)

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old fic written for spn_reversebang that I'm re-posting for reasons. amindaya had this way of posing intriguing questions in her art that I couldn't help but try and answer. Thanks to her for the inspirational art, for giving me free rein with it, for helping me pound together some ideas about what to do with it, and for responding to what I wrote with some more awesome work. Her art is included with the story.
> 
> Thanks to kasman and ebcdic for beta reading; any remaining errors are my own. 
> 
> Finally, the title is from U2's "City of Blinding Lights," so consider that the theme song.

The air in the club is hot and close, music pulsing so that Jensen feels it in his bones, even if some of the deep throbs and high keens aren't audible to him. He figures most people here can hear the subliminals. Even if it's a club frequented by augs, blockers like his are pretty rare, probably due to their illegality.

He resists the urge to press behind his ear and keeps moving, gliding between pairs and groups of people standing around the tall tables in the space between the bar and the dance floor. There's a slender blond trying to catch his eye, features inhumanly beautiful, but Jensen barely gives him a glance. It's not what he's after tonight. Not that he knows what he _is_ after, but he's confident that he will when he sees it. He always does.

He pauses on the edge of the dance floor and looks around, feeling sweat trickle down the small of his back under his tight black t-shirt and jacket. There are couples and threesomes gyrating together with various levels of lasciviousness, from the relatively tame to what would have gotten them arrested for public indecency back when such things mattered. There are inviting gazes and even a finger or two crooked in his direction, but he lets his glance wash over them and move on. He's not feeling it, not yet.

He looks over toward the bar, expecting to see odd patches of blankness hanging over its surface, but it looks normal. Jensen quirks his lips. He's probably not the only one of his kind in here, and it wouldn't do for the club owners to piss off customers by making them self-conscious for the sake of a few advertising dollars. Better to leave the 'lims turned off.

Feeling more at ease, Jensen looks over the clubbers seated at the bar. There are fewer pairs here, more singles, either nursing a drink by themselves or looking out over the floor as if they don't care that they're not part of it. His eyes trace the curves of a slender redhead, silvery lines across her shoulders indicating the presence of a neural enhancer. Curiosity piqued, Jensen gets enough off her half-turned profile that he can run a quick recog. He notes her name, address, profession, and preferences, which then become all too obvious when a willowy blonde comes up to her from behind and starts nuzzling her long neck. The redhead shivers as the blonde's lips trace one of those silvery lines, and Jensen sighs and turns away. _The good ones are always taken._

Further down the bar, there's a tall guy hunched over his drink, left arm pulled into his side like it's injured. Or like he doesn't want it to be seen. Jensen perks up again, ignoring the little voice in his head that's questioning why exactly he's looking for this. _You know damn well why_ , he tells it, and it shuts up.

He's not sure sometimes whether it's part of his psyche or if it really _is_ a voice in his head, but it's something he's learned to live with.

Jensen sidles up to the bar and lifts a hand to signal the barkeep. Tall Guy shoots him a quick glance as light flashes off Jensen's ring, but then he looks away. Jensen sizes him up out of the corner of his eye, holding off on the recog to see what he can piece together on his own. Big—nice and big—but holding himself like he wishes he wasn't. The amber liquid in the glass might be straight scotch, and isn't _that_ old-fashioned for a place like this? 

The barkeep arrives, a petite brunette with all-too-obvious augments that makes Jensen surprised she can keep her balance without toppling forward. He jerks a thumb at Tall Guy. "I'll have what he's having."

That gets him another quick look, this time up and down before the guy turns away. His long fingers toy with the glass, making it look even smaller in his hand. His left arm is tucked inside his black leather jacket, and Jensen would bet a Swiss franc that it's real leather, given the way the pulsing lights overhead seem to sink into its surface instead of bouncing straight off it.

The brunette thunks a glass down in front of him with a smirk that says, _Good luck with your stupid idea_ , and Jensen makes a little face at her before holding out his wrist. She scans it and turns away.

The liquid _is_ scotch, straight and fiery, and Jensen's glad he only took a sip. It tastes like the real thing, and he wonders briefly how much of a hit his account just took. He shakes it off and turns to lean his back against the bar. Holding the glass in the hand nearest Tall Guy, he brings it close to his mouth, but not quite there. He slowly licks his lips like he's savoring the taste of the scotch, senses alert to movement beside him.

Tall Guy snorts and sets down his glass. "Are you always this subtle?"

Jensen looks over, lip curling up in a smirk. "Naw, sometimes I put it all out there." He holds the man's eyes for a second and deliberately takes a drink, letting the scotch burn a path down his throat and swallowing to show off the line of his neck.

When he sets the glass down, Tall Guy has his lower lip between his teeth, looking up at Jensen from under his lashes. It might be flirting except for the wariness in his eyes, like he knows this isn't going to last long. Keeping his eyes locked on Jensen, he reaches out with his left hand to grab his own glass. 

Blue and red lights overhead reflect off the smooth, shiny surface from fingertips to wrist. He grips the glass smoothly and brings it to his mouth without hesitation, fingers and thumb tipping it up as he drains the last drops. Jensen watches the light gleam off the metal surface of his hand, the fingers curving and flexing like—well, fingers, and he makes an impressed moue.

Jensen knows he's being watched closely, so he calmly tosses back the rest of his drink before asking, "Can I get you another?"

Tall Guy sits up straighter on his stool, eyes flashing. Not literally— but the bright blue-green is sparking with anger. When he speaks, his voice is low enough that Jensen has to lean forward to hear. "If you're here 'cause you've got an aug fetish, I'm not gonna be helping you out with that."

Jensen considers it, tongue poking at the corner of his mouth. "I wouldn't say it's a fetish," he finally says. "Not even a kink, when it comes down to it."

Tall Guy's lips are pressed together in a firm line. He looks Jensen over more carefully, and Jensen knows what he's looking for. "You might not see it," Jensen says, tapping at his temple. "But it's there. 'M just like you." He casually lays his other arm on the bar, deliberately angling his wrist so the overhead lights play off the iridescent shimmer below where his pulse throbs.

The guy snorts and turns away. "Not hardly." He signals to the barkeep with his natural hand, tapping the empty glass to the bar to signal for another. "You don't look different unless you look close."

Jensen sweeps his other arm around to indicate their surroundings. "Everyone here looks different. That's the point, isn't it?"

He shakes his head, the forward tilt of it swinging his hair over his eyes. "Maybe for you."

The barkeep pours another shot from a crystal decanter that's eye-catching in its simplicity: real glass catching the multi-colored lights overhead with a trueness to the reflection that's rare nowadays. She arches an eyebrow at Jensen, and he nods. What the hell; it's good stuff.

When she's gone, Jensen takes a sip of the liquid fire. Then he asks, "So why'd you get it?" nodding at the hand tucked back inside the jacket.

"For my job," Tall Guy replies. At Jensen's lifted eyebrow, he goes on in a flat tone, "Makes it easier to kill people."

Jensen's proud of himself for not reacting, even though his heart's suddenly beating faster. Earlier hesitation gone, he starts a recog, eyes taking in the wide features and identifiable moles on the guy's face, uplinking them for processing. Distinctive marks, to be sure, and in a few seconds Jensen will have his answer.

He must not be completely expressionless as he does so given the way the corners of Tall Guy's mouth are twitching. Finally he ducks his head and breaks out into a smile, a deep dimple flashing into his cheek. "I'm just kiddin'," he says.

"I knew that," Jensen replies, but he slouches back against the bar anyway.

"Jared," Tall Guy finally says, holding out his right hand.

Jensen takes it in a firm grip. "Jensen. Nice to meet you. Padalecki."

Jared's hand clenches around his, and Jensen is damn glad that he reached out with the flesh-and-blood hand and not the metal one. "How'd you know that?" he demands tightly.

For answer, Jensen taps his temple again. "If it's in a public database, I've got it. Give me a few more minutes, and I'll have the rest, too." He's found that it's best to get this on the table first, make it clear that he has access to all the information the world has to offer about a person without anything more that what's inside of his head. If people find out about it later, he's learned they don't always take kindly to it.

Jared's mouth thins and he abruptly lets go of Jensen's hand. "What do you want?"

"Just some conversation." He deliberately rakes his eyes up and down Jared's long body. "For starters."

Jared shakes his head and turns away with that same scornful huff. "Plenty of people here are better at _conversation_ than me."

"Maybe. But I came up to you, didn't I? Before I saw your hand. And I'm still here."

That gets Jared's attention, and he eyes Jensen appraisingly. Jensen lets him, wondering what Jared can make out on his face in the ever-changing lighting. A muscle in his jaw twitches, and he looks down at Jensen's hand curved around his glass. Finally he says, "It's my arm."

Jensen blinks. "What?"

Jared's lips thin out again, like he got the answer he was expecting. "It's not my hand. It's my arm."

"Wow." Jensen takes that in for a minute. Apparently he'd miscalculated; it has to be a prosthetic, not an augmentation, in which case it's rapidly approaching none-of-his-business territory. But he says in a light tone, "You must really like your job, dude."

Blue-green eyes darken. "I like _having_ a job, yeah."

Something in Jared's tone sets off a little warning beep in the back of Jensen's head. "What does that mean?"

"Nothing." Jared tosses back his scotch, the line of his throat drawing Jensen's attention away for a moment from the words he just said.

When he sets the glass down on the plasticon surface of the bar, it jolts Jensen back to the present. He leans closer, picking up a whiff of spice and… _cleanness_ is the first word that comes to mind. Dropping his voice, he asks in Jared's ear, "Are you saying you were _forced_ to be augmented?"

"That would be illegal." Jared's voice is flat again, his jaw clenched so that same muscle is twitching. 

Jensen reviews the records he pulled from his recog scan and nods to himself, pieces falling into place, and goddamnit, he was not looking for something like this tonight. Not any night, not anymore. "I wouldn't put that past Foxxonbank."

Jared draws in a sharp breath. "I forgot, you already know everything about me."

"Not everything." Jensen knows he should shut up or turn away or somehow let this go, but instead he goes on, "I don't know why you didn't report your employer for forcing you to get a Class 1 augmentation."

Jared turns, his face only inches away, his eyes hard and cold. " _If_ that were the case, you fucking well know why. Because if one conglom puts you on their shit list, you're out from all of them. That means no job, nowhere to live, nowhere to buy food. They gave me a choice, and I took it."

"Some choice," Jensen says as gently as he can.

"Yeah, well." Jared hunches forward, holding his arm tighter to his side. "I'll get used to it."

Something else clicks. "It's new, isn't it," Jensen says rather than asks. "This the first time you've been anywhere except work with it?"

Jared gives a sharp nod. "First time in two months."

Jensen shakes his head, protectiveness and anger welling up at the same time, both things he thought he'd forgotten. "And here you are, blabbing all about it to the first guy who talks to you."

"I haven't said a thing," Jared retorts, his expression showing more shrewdness than Jensen expected. "You're the one making assumptions."

Quickly running over their conversation in his head, Jensen realizes he's right, and his respect for the guy goes up a notch. "So you're okay with it?" he asks, nodding at the arm hidden away under dark leather.

"Didn't say that either," Jared mutters.

"Hmm." Jensen thinks about his options. This could be a plant, but it'd be a damn elaborate one, and Jared's bitter reactions sound all too real. Besides, it's been years since he was on anyone's radar, and it would be too much of a coincidence that the guy he tried to pick up was working intel for the congloms. 

That leaves the question of whether or not he's actually going to pick the guy up. Jared's the hottest thing he's seen in a long time, and he's suddenly in the mood for tall, dark, and brooding. But he can't get the scan he wants to on the arm, not while it's under the thick leather jacket. So he asks, "That thing have a tracker?"

Jared's eyes narrow. "No."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

"All right then." He leans an elbow on the bar, deliberately invading Jared's personal space. "Wanna come home with me?"

Jared snorts disbelievingly. "We're back to that, are we?"

"If you wanted to drink, you could've done that at home for a lot less money and a lot less hassle." Jensen slowly licks his lips, and Jared's eyes almost reluctantly follow the movement. "You're here for another reason."

"Doesn't matter." Jared raises his left hand and closes it into a fist, metal flexing and bending as smoothly as flesh would. He lowers the hand out of sight, but it's a clear challenge he's thrown down.

Jensen's more than willing to take it. "That's not a deal breaker, Jared."

Jared's jaw is working and finally he sets down his bottle. "You haven't even seen it."

"Doesn't matter. Whatever you've got, I've seen stranger."

"Right, I forgot." Jared's voice has taken on a harsh tone. "Your non-kink. That's why you're here, looking for freaks?"

Jensen holds up his hands. "It's not like that. I come to a place like this to find someone who understands. Who knows what it's like to be different. Now, maybe you're still working on it, but maybe I could, you know. Help you out."

"You don't know what it's like," Jared snarls back in response. "Whatever's freaky about you, you did it to yourself." His natural hand closes over Jensen's wrist where something shimmers just under the skin. "You _chose_ to have this."

"I thought you said _you_ had a choice," Jensen returns quietly, pointedly.

Instantly, Jared's face goes pale, and he lets go of Jensen's arm. "Leave me alone." His voice is low, almost shaking, and a pang of sympathy shoots through Jensen.

It should require long, careful consideration, but instead it's a split-second decision. "Hey," he says, putting a hand on Jared's shoulder. He waits until Jared's eyes meet his, then deliberately turns his head as if looking for the barkeep, leaning slightly closer and tilting his head to expose as much of the skin behind his ear as possible.

He hears Jared gasp, and then there's a large, warm hand on his neck, slowly tracing a downward path as if Jared's seducing him. But the way his fingers deliberately press behind Jensen's ear, tracing over the ridges of barely-visible circuitry before passing along the stubble of his jaw, tells a different story, and Jensen's impressed by the subtlety.

When he looks back at Jared, he sees the man carefully studying him, like he understands what he's been shown and is re-evaluating his earlier impressions. When he speaks, his eyes flicker around to be sure no one is within hearing distance before he says quietly, "Blockers are illegal, you know."

"Now who's making assumptions?" Jensen returns, and he gets the ghost of a smile that he returns. Then even the small grin slides away as he goes on, "Time was, beaming shit directly into people's heads was illegal. Maybe I'm just old-fashioned."

"I doubt that," Jared returns, but he looks more thoughtful now. "So you really don't see 'em?"

"Or hear 'em." He shrugs one shoulder. "Unless I want to. Don't want to stand out at the wrong time."

"Yeah, that'd suck," Jared agrees in a flat tone. Before Jensen can answer, he takes a deep breath. "So how far is your place?"

Jensen eyes him curiously. He wasn't expecting it to be that easy, but he supposes he shouldn't complain. "Few minutes' walk."

"Stellar." Jared shifts off of the stool and stands up. Yeah, he is nice and big. A few inches on Jensen, and that's rare. Height is one of the few things they haven't figured out how to augment, not without it looking wrong in one way or another, and Jensen's used to being as tall or taller than his conquests. This'll be a welcome change.

They pass through the crowd in silence, Jensen practically feeling the envious stares being shot at one or both of them. He can sense Jared's solid bulk behind him, and it's nice feeling like someone has his back in the literal sense, even if it's only for the time it takes to walk to the door. 

They're out on the street, and Jensen dials back his blocker so that he can react like he should to the floating ads and messages that'll be clogging the street in a party neighborhood like this. Most people won't actually see or hear them, at least not consciously; subliminals come and go too fast, which is part of why they're so powerful. He can ignore the ads since he's aware of them, but it wouldn't do to miss a message like an emergency vehicle clearing a path for itself by broadcasting suggestions that people move out of the way.

Outside the club, the chill in the November air makes the sweat on Jensen's back go clammy. There are clusters of augs—some more obvious than others—chatting and smoking, taking a break from the heat and light inside. Jensen sometimes wonders why people still bother to smoke actual tobacco with real nicotine, although he can appreciate the ritualistic elements of going outside to light a cigarette. He insists on coffee from actual beans, after all, even though the synth version has a better caffeine-to-cup ratio.

As they walk away, the crowd gets thinner. Jensen still feels the warm burn of the scotch down his throat, but now that he thinks about, he's wishing he'd had vodka instead. The DOM brand is the best, smooth and flavorful—

"Goddamn it," Jensen mutters. He reaches up like he's scratching the back of his ear and adjusts the blocker aug so only emergency frequencies will get through. Fucking 'lims. He knows what he wants; he doesn't need someone to tell him.

The crowd is building up again at the end of the block. Most of the people here are looking towards where Jensen and Jared have come from, some even eyeing them up and down like they're trying to identify what makes them freaks. He snorts softly. Not that there aren't augs who get off on knowing that they look different, and yeah, maybe he's guilty of it from time to time, but the way some of these squares fetishize it is infuriating.

They're walking side by side, nearly at the largest cluster of people when Jared slips his left hand out of his pocket and runs it through his hair. The streetlights gleam a dull orange off of the metal, and the gasps from the onlookers are audible. From the corner of his eye, Jensen can see that Jared's face doesn't change expression, and Jensen smirks at a petite blonde who's gaping at them both as they sail by.

They stay silent crossing the street. They're halfway down the next block before Jensen asks, "You all right?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Jared's voice is tight, his gaze focused straight ahead.

Jensen keeps his tone light, easy. "Thought it was your first time out. Got yourself a lot of attention back there."

"Fuck 'em," Jared retorts flatly. "If they think we're a couple of goddamn zoo animals or something…fuck 'em."

"Amen," Jensen returns, bumping Jared's shoulder as they continue on.

Jensen lives in an old warehouse that narrowly missed condo conversion before the Big Crash, when the dollar and the euro both became so many pieces of paper. Instead of being full of artists or wannabe artists or garage bands or other so-called creatives, it's just Jensen. Five thousand square feet of empty space shot through with hulking iron beams and listing steel columns, a few sections of which are off limits because of the questionable nature of the flooring over the basement. He only bothers to light half of it—there's no way one person needs anything close to all that space—and the shadows in the back corners sometimes take his nighttime guests a while to get used to.

Not that's he not usually distracting them within a few seconds of entering.

Jared's no exception, looking around nervously as he enters. "You live here?"

"Home sweet home," Jensen agrees, setting the lock and turning up the lights from the handpad near the door.

"Wow. It's, uh, very industrial chic." Jared's turning in a slow circle, taking in the workshop on the right, the battered furniture clustered around a nano-screen hanging over a cinderblock wall, and the chrome-and-black kitchen that's the one modern element of the place.

"Not what you're used to?" Jensen asks dryly. Fingers to his temple, he checks on the security system, getting a quick scan of the day's results. Nothing's been triggered, inside or out, and he relaxes, shrugging off his carbon fiber jacket and tossing it towards the closet. It lands in a heap on the concrete floor, dark material pooling in a shimmer.

"Not exactly," Jared says absently. "Hey, I think I have that sofa."

"Inokea?" When Jared nods, Jensen goes on, "Yeah, the European congloms generally aren't as bad."

"Yeah." Jared's shoulders are hunched up like he's cold. His hands are jammed in his front jean pockets, only a sliver of metal visible at the left wrist. "That's what I hear, at least."

"It's true." Jensen tilts his head to the side. "I kinda know about these things."

"Do you?" Jared's gaze flicks to the side and back, like he's looking where the chip is buried behind Jensen's ear. "That have anything to do with one of your augs?"

"Might." Jensen wets his lips, stifling a grin when Jared's eyes drop to his mouth. "That's not what we came here to talk about, though, is it?"

"I didn't think we came here to _talk_ ," Jared returns, his eyes darkening.

Jensen's pulse starts to beat faster and his shoulders relax even as a new, delicious kind of tension starts to tighten within him. "Bedroom's in the back," he says, nodding towards the darkened interior of the warehouse.

"Lead the way," Jared replies easily.

He does, past the open kitchen area and around two of the sturdier iron columns stretching up into the darkness of the ceiling somewhere over their heads. The light from the entryway is still enough to see by, and he reaches back with a hand between his shoulder blades to shuck off his black t-shirt.

He hears an indrawn breath and he smirks. He's been told his back is his best feature a time or two—at least until the viewer in question gets to look lower—and he's not above showing it off. No augmentation here, nothing but homegrown skin and muscle, and he can feel Jared hovering a step behind him the same way he did as they left the club.

Then a large hand closes over his shoulder—a flesh-and-blood hand—and he comes to a stop. "Goddamn," Jared breathes out, and then his hand is roaming across Jensen's shoulders, warm and large and firm, and wow, is that going to feel good when they've both got their hands on each other—

It occurs to Jensen to wonder if Jared's aug is at the same temperature as the rest of his body. It also occurs to him that it's a little late to ask now.

When Jared's fingers reach the waistband of his jeans, Jensen edges forward. No use making it _too_ easy. "C'mon," he tosses over his shoulder and moves forward into the bedroom.

It's not a separate room, but it is set back behind the wall of the kitchen so that the entryway light is mostly blocked. There's a streetlight right outside, but the stripe of thick pebbled glass halfway up the wall only lets in a dim orange glow. Jensen's about to command the bedside lamp to turn on when he realizes maybe he should ask. "You, uh, want the light on?"

"I want it just like this," Jared's voice comes from behind him, and then his hand is skimming down Jensen's shoulder and over his torso, pausing to circle his palm over one nipple before continuing down over Jensen's stomach.

Jensen arches back into the touch, baring the side of his neck. Jared noses at the skin behind his right ear, finding nothing but flesh there. Then his tongue is lapping at Jensen's neck, teeth lightly scraping the surface, and Jensen grins to himself even as the arousal starts to pulse through him. The big guys usually like it rough, and it feels like Jared's no exception.

He shifts in Jared's arms and realizes two things: he can feel the leather of Jared's jacket against his back, and while it feels soft and supple, it means Jared's wearing way too many clothes. He also realizes he's not actually _in_ Jared's arms: as awesome as the hand roaming his torso feels, there's only the one.

Jensen leans his head farther back and murmurs, "Your aug not do sensations?"

"What?" He can feel Jared tense against him. "No, it's—it's as sensitive as skin."

"Then touch me." Jensen reaches back with both hands to hold Jared's thighs and bring his body nice and close. His ass is snugged right up against Jared's groin, and the long, hard line he can feel pressed against him makes him want to purr.

Jared lets out a grunt in his ear at the contact, head tilting forward so that his hair is brushing where his mouth was a moment ago. Jensen can feel the hesitant motion as he brings his left arm forward, hand closing over Jensen's hip through his jeans. It feels like a hand holding him, nothing more and nothing less, and he cranes his head around to find Jared's mouth.

They kiss, hot and wet and slow, and Jensen almost feels like he's on the dance floor of the club. They're slowly grinding against each other to an inaudible beat, Jared's hand sliding from Jensen's hip around to his front, making him tense up with anticipation. His hands are still gripping Jared's thighs, and when that hand finally cups him through his jeans, his fingers dig into the denim covering strong legs as he moans into Jared's mouth.

"You like that?" Jared murmurs between kisses, and hell _yes_ , like that's not a ridiculously stupid question. Jensen tries to turn around to return the favor, but Jared's arms are tight around him, and when he starts undoing Jensen's jeans, Jensen leans back against him and lets it happen.

The metal _is_ warm to the touch, but Jensen only feels the brush of it over his groin as Jared shoves his pants down before a warm, natural hand is closing over his cock. Then he's lost in the sensations of lips on his neck and a hand on his cock and a hard, strong body pressing against him. His hips are bucking already and he should feel embarrassed at how he's writhing around nearly naked when Jared is still fully clothed, but he feels too good to care.

Jared's stroking him long and slow, building the anticipation as if he knows how Jensen likes it. His other arm is holding Jensen firmly against him, the leather of his jacket smooth where his arm rests over Jensen's hips. Jensen can't see it, not with his head tilted back as Jared goes at his neck, but he's suddenly dying of curiosity as to what the aug would feel like on him.

And then before he can figure out how to ask, Jared's switching his hands, and Jensen groans in appreciation. It's as warm as the rest of his body, but there isn't the rough drag of flesh over his sensitive skin; it's a silky smooth touch enveloping his cock in a firm grip and it's like heaven.

"God, that's good," he mutters, fingers digging into Jared's thighs again. He feels open and vulnerable, arms stretched out behind him as Jared works him over, but he knows Jared's making himself vulnerable here, too, taking a risk that Jensen won't either freak out or fetishize him. It's hard to worry about that when Jared's hand starts moving faster, skin-warm metal gliding over his own heated flesh and bringing him closer and closer to the edge. 

Then Jared's hand glides up farther and pauses on the down-stroke, slick with pre-come. Before Jensen can complain, Jared's murmuring, "Hang on," into his ear.

Then Jensen's world explodes.

Jared's hand is _vibrating_ around him, faster than a human hand could possibly move. It's a constant buzz of sensation, like nothing Jensen's ever felt before, and he's arching into it, moaning open-mouthed. There's no way to stop it even if he wanted to; white-hot sensation rises up from his toes and sparks through his veins like nothing manmade can ever replicate.

He's coming before he knows it, pleasure exploding through him, his shout echoing off the walls. Jared's hand never slows as fireworks continue to burst behind Jensen's closed eyelids until he's gasping out, "Stop."

Jared gives him a gentle squeeze and then lets go, both arms wrapping around Jensen's chest as he braces himself against Jensen's back.

As hazy as Jensen feels, faint aftershocks still rippling through him, he's aware enough to know that letting Jared rut against him isn't exactly reciprocation. So he says, "Hey," and squirms around in Jared's grip before dropping to his knees.

"Holy shit," Jared breathes above him, but Jensen's already got his pants open, jaw dropping as he realizes what he just set himself up for. Jared really _is_ a big guy. There's no going back, though, not with the hesitant touch he can feel on the back of his head, and a moment later he's licking and sucking the best he can manage.

Given that Jared said he hasn't been with anyone for at least two months, Jensen figures this isn't going to take too long. So he doesn't feel bad that he doesn't even get his lips halfway down the throbbing length before Jared's grunting and pulsing into his mouth. Some of the salty heat spills out past his lips, and he looks up from under his lashes to see Jared's eyes widen, hips bucking forward in a second wave. Jensen takes what he can and wipes the rest off with the back of his hand as he pulls off. 

He sits back on his heels, satisfied and grinning. Jared's got a shy, dazed smile on his face that seems completely at odds with the heated expression he had a moment ago, and it sets off the kind of warm and fuzzy feelings that Jensen usually tries to avoid.

He abruptly levers himself to his feet, nearly stumbling with his jeans still around his knees, and automatically reaches for Jared's upper arm to steady himself. Jared goes tense at the touch, and Jensen belatedly realizes he's grabbed the aug. It _feels_ like a bicep under the jacket, like there's the swell of muscle under his hand with the give of skin over it, and as curious as he is, Jensen pulls away before he gets too invasive. "Sorry," he mutters. 

"'S okay." Jared's biting his lower lip, deep pink and slick from their earlier kisses, and Jensen can't resist the urge to lean up and run his tongue over that swell before closing his mouth over Jared's. Jared lets out a soft noise and kisses him back, both arms coming around him, the leather almost sticky against Jensen's sweat-streaked skin. He can smell Jared's sweat and both of their spunk, and it's not until Jared's tongue darts out to lick the corner of his mouth that he realizes some of it has dried there.

Jensen shivers and brushes his lips over Jared's before pulling away. "You want a beer?" he asks quietly. It's the closest he can come to asking Jared to stay—at least for a little while—which he suddenly really wants almost as bad as he wanted the guy's hands on him earlier. He's intrigued by Jared and wants to know more about him, and that's a rare enough feeling that he's willing to shut down the little voice that's warning him of danger and go with it.

His sight has adjusted enough that he can see the shifting colors in Jared's blue-green eyes. He'd almost think they were augmented, too, given the way that their color seems to change in every new light source, plus their slightly exotic tilt. But given Jared's reactions to his own arm, he doesn't strike Jensen as the kind of guy who'd get his eyeballs enhanced.

Jared's still regarding him, looking indecisive, and Jensen decides to sweeten the deal. "It's independent. Hydroponic hops, brewed in the city by a friend of mine." Jensen knows he's taking as big of a leap here as he did showing Jared his implant, admitting to contraband in his house, but he has a feeling about Jared like he hasn't had about anyone in a long time.

There's a small smile creeping across Jared's face, dimpling his cheeks, and that feeling in Jensen's gut grows a little stronger. Or maybe it's just the afterglow. "I haven't had anything unregulated in a really long time," Jared admits. "The regular stuff all tastes the same to me, no matter how many ads I suck in over the course of a day tellin' me different."

"Well, in that case." Jensen nods towards the front room. "Couch is pretty comfortable, or we could drink in here."

Jared's eyes dart back and forth, and Jensen can tell from the furrow in his brow that he understands the choice Jensen is offering him. "Couch would probably be better," he finally says, almost reluctantly.

Jensen gives a quick grin that he hopes hides his disappointment. "One beer, comin' right up."

He fastens his jeans back up as he leads the way out into the main room. There's sweat cooling over his bare chest and back, but a quick word to the heating system will kick up the temperature a notch. Might get Jared to take that jacket off, too, not that Jensen's intent on manipulating him into it. Out of it. Whatever.

He pulls two beers from the fridge and pops them open. There's no label on the bottle, and the writing inside the bottle cap is normally invisible thanks to a nano-lim tucked inside, an ironic little piece of self-preservation by people dedicated to fighting the system. Jensen can read it since he has the blocker, and he taps the edge of the cap in the right spot to shut off the 'lim so Jared can read it, too.

Jared's sitting a little stiffly on the couch—like he's in a stranger's house, Jensen figures, despite what they just did in the bedroom—but he accepts the beer readily enough. He gives the blank glass a quick look, then pulls off the cap and reads out loud, "Dallas Draft. Brewed by humans." He snorts. "You think the congloms use robots or something?"

"Might as well, for all the care they take." Jensen takes a swig of his beer, the sharp, fresh taste brightening his senses in a different way than the scotch had earlier. "'Sides, I thought you might appreciate something real, given what you were drinking at the bar."

Jared nods and rolls the bottle between his hands. The lights are low enough even in the main room that his left hand doesn't reflect light the way it did earlier, just a dull sheen. "Don't much like the regulated stuff, but possession is grounds for dismissal, you know?"

Jensen nods and takes another swig. Once the congloms turned their attention from fighting government regulation to manipulating it, it was only a matter of time before all manner of food production fell under their purview. If you didn't eat or drink what they produced, it wasn't deemed "safe," and in the interests of public health, you could be fined or imprisoned, depending on whether you were merely possessing or had the intent to sell. If you worked for one of them, you'd be fired for sure—in which case growing your own food might well be your only way to survive. At least, if the Food and Drug Association didn't spray it with weed killer on the grounds of keeping the crop gene pool uncontaminated by unapproved varieties.

Jensen clears his throat, trying to head off the awkwardness that's threatening to creep into the silence. "You, uh, ever been to that club before?"

Jared looks up at him sideways through a fall of brown bangs. "If you meant to say, 'D'you come here often?' you should've asked that earlier."

Jensen tilts the bottle towards him in acknowledgment. "There is no good way to ask that question, it's true."

Jared turns sideways, shifting his knee onto the couch, and damn, he's got long legs. "I hadn't been there before, no. I never thought I'd be…you know." He gestures with his left hand, the motion looking completely natural and smooth. "I mean, I get the whole thing with an aug that's like a ramped-up version of a tattoo or a piercing. Even a blocker has an obvious value. But to really change yourself into something else…I still don't get it."

"You don't think I'm human?" Jensen raises one eyebrow, almost carelessly tilting his arm so the iridescent band at his wrist gives a faint shimmer. 

He's had this debate with people before, all the way back to his first aug, a simple interface sitting under his left temple to keep himself online without the bother of an external device. The added features didn't change anything as far as he was concerned, even if there were those like his mother who didn't want him turning himself into a machine. Not that he saw it that way. Once he had one, it was easy to get the next one, but he's never thought of it as making himself anything more or less than who and what he is. They're tools, nothing else. Tools which are convenient in their proximity to his nervous system, to be sure, but nothing that makes him other-than-human. 

"That's not what I mean." Jared shifts in his seat, eyes sweeping over Jensen's bare chest and then away. "I mean me, not you."

Jensen sets down the bottle and looks at Jared, hard. "You are not 'something else.' You're still you, okay?" He isn't sure where the edge in his voice has come from, but it seems to startle him more than it does Jared.

Jared shakes his head. "I don't feel like it." He lifts his left hand slightly and lets it fall into his lap. "And I can never forget it. I mean, maybe for a few minutes once in a while, but then I go to reach for something or I see the light catch it, and it's like a kick to my gut all over again."

This was not exactly how Jensen was envisioning their post-sex conversation would go, but now that they're here, there doesn't seem to be a way around it. "What's your job?" he asks.

Jared shoots him a sideways look. "Didn't you look that up earlier?"

He shrugs one shoulder, reaches for his beer again. "Something about nanotech?"

"Nanobotics." Jared ducks his head, hair falling to hide his eyes. "Human eyes are still better at envisioning 3-D space than a computer, but our hands aren't steady enough to manipulate individual molecules, even when filtered through a mechanical arm. But if you can interface directly with the human nervous system, you can keep the hand steady enough to do the work."

"Huh. So you did that kind of work before?"

"Yeah." Jared shrugs, takes a gulp of beer. "Apparently I'm really good at envisioning how to get the molecules to fit together. Kind of like a 3-D puzzle. So I was a logical candidate."

"Why the whole arm?" When Jared goes still, Jensen hurries to add, "You don't have to tell me. I'm just being nosy." 

"No, it's all right. I mean, yeah, it's a personal question, but I just had my dick in your mouth, right?" At Jensen's snort, Jared flashes him a smirk. Then his face falls. "I don't really know. I mean, they said it was because it was easier to integrate the aug with the nervous system if it was the entire arm, but I'm not sure I buy that. That means a lot more nerves that have to match up, right?"

"You would think. I don't really know, though. I mean, mine are all pretty small-scale enhancements." Jensen eyes him curiously. "Why else d'you think it is, though? I mean, that's a pretty big risk to take, just from a medical perspective."

Jared's gaze drops, and he lays both hands on the coffee table, flesh and metal beside each other. "Sometimes I think it's to remind me that I basically belong to them," he says in a low tone. 

Jensen feels a shiver run down his spine, and an old, familiar sympathy washes over him that he can't ignore. "You ever think about getting out?" he asks just as quietly.

Jared shakes his head. "There's no 'getting out,' Jensen." 

"Sure there is. I did." At Jared's startled look, he goes on, "I used to do data security for BPChaseVirgin. Got fed up with a lot of things about the job and I broke away."

"Just like that?" Jared asks sarcastically.

"I had some help. It's not the kind of thing you can do by yourself. First thing I did was get the blocker and I've never looked back."

"So what do you do now?"

Jensen jerks a thumb over his shoulder at the workshop space across the warehouse. "Same kind of work, just freelance."

"What does that even mean?" 

"It means working for people instead of the congloms." He holds up the beer bottle. "Doing projects for people like this. They need the same data security and micro-processing and marketing, just on a smaller scale."

"What happens when they catch you at it? Or when someone sees that blocker who's not so sympathetic?" Jared lifts his head. "And how do you know I'm not going to go back and tell them everything you're saying? That I'm not recording all of this right now, whether I mean to or not?"

"Well, the latter I know for sure." Jensen points at the front door. "The entryway isn't just to keep out the cold air. I got the best scans money can buy, and some that money can't, and there's nothing on you that can hear what we're saying. Or record where you are, if you were wondering."

Jared's shoulders relax slightly. "I was wondering," he admitted. "They said there wasn't a tracker in it, but I didn't think I could believe them."

"And that's why I don't think you're going to tell anyone anything." Jensen leans forward. "Because you want to get out. You wanted to before they made you get that aug, and now you _really_ want to, even though you don't think you can."

Jared's eyes are wide, astonished. He catches himself and blinks back the shocked expression. "Why do you say that?"

"Because I used to help people get out," Jensen admits reluctantly. "I talked to them ahead of time to see how serious they were, if they could really commit to leaving everything behind. Sometimes they couldn't, but sometimes they were ready to make that leap."

The shrewd expression on Jared's face is back. "You're part of the Railroad."

Jensen shakes his head, throat going tight with remembered regret. "Not anymore."

What he's feeling must be visible on his face. "What happened?" Jared asks more quietly.

"A passenger got caught." At Jared's sharp intake of breath, he goes on, "I was scared to death he was going to give me up, but it never happened. Still, I took it as a sign and got out. Now I limit the quasi-treasonous activities to the ones that pay." He tries a grin, but he can feel that it's weak.

Jared's quiet for a moment, apparently taking it in. Then he shakes his head. "I don't get you, man. How are you so anti-conglom when you've got a bar code on your wrist?"

Jensen rolls his eyes. God, he hates that term. "The difference is, it connects to what I want it to connect to. My account, my francs. I control it, not the other way around." He rolls his arm so it's out of sight. "Besides, it makes me look like a square. Sometimes that's useful."

"I bet," Jared mutters darkly.

Jensen sighs. He wanted to keep Jared around for a beer and conversation, get to know him as something more than a quick fuck. Now Jared's upset at being reminded that he can't hide his aug the way Jensen can, and Jensen's feeling melancholy from the reminder of what he used to do and how hard it was to give it up. Bang-up job all around.

Jared lets out a big sigh and drains the rest of his beer, apparently sensing the same deadening mood. "Maybe I should get going."

Jensen doesn't bother to try and hide the disappointment he can feel on his face. "Yeah, if that's what you want," he says quietly.

"Sorry." When Jensen looks over in surprise, Jared shrugs. "Talk about killing the afterglow."

"You'll just have to come back another time," Jensen quickly responds. When he sees the faint traces of a smile on Jared's lips, he turns it into an over-the-top leer that gets those dimples to pop out again, and Jensen knows he can't let this guy go without the possibility of seeing him again.

But they both stand up and they move towards the door, and it's not until they're almost there that Jensen clears his throat. "Hey, Jared."

Jared turns around, hands stuffed in his pockets again, eyebrows up in an inquiry.

Jensen looks him in the eye. "If you need anything—anything at all, man—you let me know, okay?"

Jared holds his gaze for a moment and then nods a few times. "Yeah, okay," he says quietly. "I know where to find you, I guess. And you must have my number." He taps his temple in imitation of Jensen's gesture.

Jensen momentarily wants to smack himself. "If you want mine, I have a direct line." He echoes Jared's gesture, only behind his ear. "The blocker keeps it scrambled, so it's private."

"Really?" Jared looks tentatively hopeful, and it's the first time Jensen's seen an expression like that on his face. It's like he's a different person without the glower, one that Jensen feels the urge to protect and coax a smile out of. "Yeah, if you don't mind."

"Here." Jensen lunges out and grabs a pad and pencil from his workshop bench. He writes down the digits and then holds up the paper. When Jared reaches for it, he pulls it away. "Don't record this anywhere, okay? Not on paper, not digitally. Just memorize it."

"You're serious." Jared looks back and forth between him and the paper.

"We both said some pretty serious things tonight," Jensen reminds him. "And there are a lot of people out there that I don't want to find me. Even if it's been a few years since they had reason to."

"But you're okay if I come find you," Jared says slowly, like it doesn't make sense to him.

Jensen can feel his cheeks flush. "Yeah," he says simply.

"Huh." Jared looks at him for a moment longer and then stares at the paper like he's trying to burn a hole through it. Eventually, he nods. "Okay."

"Okay." Jensen slips the paper into the micro-shredder under his desk, and the whir of the blades grind it into a nano-pulp. "You, uh, take care, alright?"

"Yeah." Jared pauses, looking indecisive. Then he suddenly leans forward into Jensen's space, flesh-and-blood hand closing over Jensen's bicep, and kisses him. It's swift and fleeting and makes him ache for more, but Jensen hasn't even gotten a hand up to touch Jared before he's moving away. 

As Jared draws back, his gaze flickers down to Jensen's lips. For a moment, Jensen thinks he's going to stay. But then he's moving back, his right hand closing around the door handle. "Thanks, Jensen," he says quietly, the sincerity practically shining out of his eyes. "For everything."

"Oh, the pleasure was _all_ mine," Jensen drawls.

Jared ducks his head in response, that grin Jensen was seeking playing around the corners of his lips. "No, it wasn't," he says shyly, and then he's out the door before Jensen can think of a reply.

He stares at the closed door for a while, still feeling the warmth of Jared's lips on his. This is not at all what he'd been looking for when he went to that club tonight. Not in a million years.

Jensen shakes his head and collects his thoughts. The beer bottles have to be put in the back to be melted down later; it's been a while since the FDA has gone through garbage looking for evidence of contraband, but you can never be too careful. Not when there's still a warrant out on you for trafficking stolen intellectual property.

He pauses in the act of picking up the bottles, wondering if in Jared's case it would be more than that. Employees of the congloms are still _people_ , not slaves—at least in the eyes of the law—so helping to spirit them away from their employers and across the northern border isn't about stolen property per se. It's about the "property" in their heads. But for a Class 1 aug like Jared's, Foxxonbank's lawyers might have managed to craft that part of Jared's body into the actual physical property of the conglom. Maybe Jared's bleak cynicism about belonging to them is actually true.

The more Jensen thinks about it, the more pissed off he gets. Why couldn't people have seen that this is what it was going to come to? That turning everything the government used to do over to the supposedly more efficient and better-run corporations wasn't a recipe for anything but disaster once the congloms got bigger and bigger and then became the ones making the laws? Sure, twenty years ago, all but the craziest conspiracy theorists would have scoffed at the idea that part of a person's body could belong to their employer. Now, it's not far-fetched at all. There are probably other people out there like Jared, and Jensen can't do a thing for them.

But he can do something for Jared.

He snatches his t-shirt up from the floor and shrugs it back on. Then he heads to the back corner of his workshop, towards the old walk-in freezer that had been one of the reasons he bought the place. It's not plugged in, of course, but it still has thick, solid walls that he's reinforced with enough equipment to ward off all of the surveillance technology he knows exists. It's been a while since he's used it, but the routine of firing up the blockers and tuning them so only his frequency gets through is familiar. He's working the blocker inside his own head strong enough that it's glowing, an eerie blue light washing over the metal walls around him. 

Fifteen minutes later, he's internally dialing a number that took some of his more creative tricks to find online. Even so, it rings long enough that Jensen starts to worry it's not going to go through. Just as he's starting to wonder what else he should try, there's a series of clicks, and then a low voice answers, "Collins Vacation Services."

Jensen smiles at the familiar voice. "Hey, Misha."

There's a short pause and then, "JR?"

He hasn't heard that name in a long time. "Yeah, it's me."

"Well, wow. That's—how've you been?"

"Fine." Small talk isn't usually part of these conversations, and Jensen already feels his scalp prickling. "Listen, Misha, I need a ticket."

"What happened?" Misha asks quickly, concern etched in his voice.

"Nothing. Not yet. Not to me, at any rate." He rubs at the back of his neck. "It's for someone I met. They made him get a Class 1, and he's not okay with it."

"Enough 'not okay' to run?" Misha sounds skeptical.

"I don't know, maybe not. But if he does, it'll probably have to be fast. He's not exactly able to hide it."

"Full neural enhancer?"

Jensen shakes his head. He's only seen a guy once who had gone all out with that: more than the redhead at the club tonight, silvery lines tracing beneath the skin of his hands and face and everywhere else, throwing into doubt Jensen's internal proclamation that he was still fully human. Compared to that, Jared could pass for a square if he was careful. "No, full robotic arm."

"Shit." Misha lets out a sigh. "No contact for two years and then you bring me this?"

"I'm sorry." Jensen smiles weakly, hoping it comes through in his voice. "You're the best?"

"You know it." There's a pause and then Misha says, "All right, I'll work on two tickets."

"There's only one of him."

"JR." It's amazing how much exasperation the man can pack into two letters. "C'mon, you're a smart guy. If a Class 1 aug disappears, the conglom won't throw up their hands and say, 'Oh well.' They're going to find him, or at least they're going to find where he went. Either way, they're going to trace it back to you."

"Shit." Jensen rubs a hand over his mouth. That hadn't even occurred to him, but now that Misha's said it, he knows it's true. A whole new cascade of possibilities and consequences start working through his head and he doesn't like any of them.

"I know it's been a while, but for once, you've got to put yourself in your passengers' shoes." Misha's tone goes softer. "Are _you_ prepared to give up everything for this, JR? To leave your home, all your belongings, all of your friends and family?"

"Yeah, I know the drill," Jensen replies wearily. "Fuck."

There's silence for a moment. Then Misha says, "I'll start making plans, but I'll wait to hear from you again. Things have gotten tighter, JR. The stations are getting fewer and farther between, and I can't have people waiting on passengers and have them not show. Only makes it harder the next time around."

Jensen sighs. "Damn, I hadn't realized that. I'm sorry."

"Not your fault; you've been out of the circuit and for a good reason. Now, I'm not saying I won't do it, especially for you. But you've got to be sure, okay? You and your mystery man."

"Got it." He rubs the back of his neck again. "It might not be right away, Misha."

"Understood." It's a more brisk, business-like tone as Misha says, "You take care of yourself, JR. Good to hear you're still kicking it around."

"You, too, man," Jensen says sincerely. He'd always hoped Misha hadn't suffered the consequences of their unlucky passenger any more than he had, and it's good to know it was true. Makes going to ground and getting the enhanced blocker all worthwhile. 

He hangs up and shuts down the anti-surveillance measures before exiting the old freezer, the light from behind his ear dimming and then going out. He'd love to have the blockers on all the time, ringed all around his place, but that would mean pirating electricity. The disguised solar panels on the roof can only provide so much, and he's not willing to take the risk of hooking up to the grid.

Jensen thinks for a moment about what it would be like to live somewhere that he wouldn't have to do that. Where he could do the work that he wants and not have to hide for it, where he could put what he wants in his body, or _not_ put in the things he doesn't want. He's never seriously thought about taking the Underground Railroad to Canada, not for more than a few minutes. There are people who rely on him here, and even if he can't visit his family very often in case they're being watched, he at least gets to see them. If he takes one of Misha's tickets, he'd be lucky to visit them virtually once in a while, never mind in the flesh.

Jared has to be thinking about the same things right now. He has to know that "getting out" for him means more than it had for Jensen when he escaped the congloms. It would mean not just going off-grid, but escaping the country, which isn't at all a guaranteed process. As discomfited as Jared is by his aug, it's something he could get used to. Probably. It might even prove to have some advantages, as Jensen discovered earlier. He smirks to himself at the memory.

That little voice in Jensen's head tells him that it's probably not so simple. And no matter how he tries that night, he's not able to shut it up.

A week passes and Jensen hasn't entirely made up his mind about what to do. He hasn't heard from Jared beyond a quick, "Thanks, I had a good time," and part of him thinks that maybe that was it. Maybe it had just been a good time, one-night kind of thing. Maybe Jared blew off the steam he needed to and now has enough confidence now to go out and be himself, although Jensen sure wishes that he'd been willing to share more of that self with Jensen. 

But every time he thinks like that, he remembers the haunted look he'd caught on Jared's face once or twice, the bitterness in his tone when he talked about his aug, and Jensen can't convince himself that there isn't more to come. He blames that for the reason he hasn't gone back to the club, nor sought out companionship anywhere else. He's waiting to see if Jared comes back, that's all. He isn't so taken with the guy that he doesn't want anyone else. That's an absurd thought.

Another week passes and Jensen finally calls Misha. He explains that he's willing to do it, but that he hasn't heard from Jared. Misha says he's heard from another pair of potential passengers and that he'll go ahead and get the "tickets," because one set or the other will probably need them. Jensen thanks him and hangs up, feeling a sense of finality even though nothing at all is settled. He debates telling some of his clients what's going on, then decides against it. Even people you trust can accidentally say something at the wrong time, and he doesn't need this train derailed before it can even get going.

Then, one morning at 2 A.M., Jensen gets a phone call, the loud buzz in his head startling him wide awake.

He sits up abruptly and accepts the call, stomach sinking when he sees who it is. Not that he hasn't been hoping to hear from him again, but at this time of night, it can't be a good thing. "Jared?"

"Jensen." Jared's voice is low, quiet, and close to broken. "Jensen, I need your help."

"What happened?" Jensen throws aside the sheets and reaches for the boxers on the floor next to his bed. His aug is glowing brightly enough to see by as it churns through the work of keeping their conversation secret.

"I got—my boss came to talk to me today," Jared starts haltingly. "He asked how it was going, and I said fine. He said the medscans were showing everything was great with the aug, and my productivity is up more than they expected."

"Yeah?" Jensen pulls on the boxers and starts looking around for a shirt. He doesn't think he actually needs to go anywhere, but he'll feel better if he's not naked. "That's not good?"

"It's too good." There's a hitch to Jared's breath, and when he speaks again, his voice is shaking. "Jensen, he—they want my other arm, too."

"Fuck!" Jensen lets out a string of curse words and pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezing shut as if he can block out Jared's words and the images they call to mind. "Goddamn it, I had no idea they could do that."

"I don't think they can," Jared says bitterly. "It's not going to stop them, though. Jensen, I can't…I just can't. My brother's a doctor, and he said the risk of the body rejecting a major aug is greater the second time, although _their_ doctors say there's minimal risk since the first one went so well. Which—that's not even the point! I can't do this, Jensen. I _can't_!"

"Hey, it'll be okay," Jensen soothes. Jared's voice had risen as he spoke, the device in Jensen's head toning it down somewhat but not entirely. "I can help you, all right? But you have to do exactly what I say."

Jared sniffs. "What do you want me to do?"

Jensen draws in a slow breath and lets it out. He really hopes that Misha's other passengers are only in the thinking-things-over stage at this point, because it sounds like they're going to have to move fast. When he speaks, it's quietly, intently. "You know that if you try to leave, they're not going to let you, right? That even if you're willing to go off the grid and live outside the congloms like me, they won't let you at this point?"

"I figured that, yeah." Jared's flat tone is one Jensen recognizes from that first night at the club. "You're talking about the Railroad."

"Yes, I am." No use beating around the bush, not at this point. "I have a friend who can get you a ticket. But you have to be ready to go and never come back."

Jared sniffs again. "I talked to my brother tonight. I went over to his place and told him, and he—well, we couldn't come out and say it, but I could tell. He thinks I should run. He pretty much told me so." Then he draws in a sharp breath. "Jensen, are you _sure_ this connection is secure?"

"If it's not, they would have pegged me a long time ago." They hadn't found him after Matt was caught, after all, and his blocker is stronger and has wider coverage now. "So listen. How long do you have?"

"Um. I don't know. They said they've give me a week to think about it, but I probably shouldn't wait that long, right?"

"They'll be watching you now and then again as the deadline gets closer, so yeah, you're right." Jensen pinches the bridge of his nose again, like that'll help him think better. "Okay, three days. Meet me at my place at 10 P.M. on Friday night. Nothing but a daypack, okay? Whatever you can't live without, but not so that it looks like you're carrying luggage. Don't say goodbye to anyone, don't give any hint that you're not going to be there on Monday morning." 

"Okay. Shit. I really have to do this, don't I?"

 _And so do I_ , Jensen thinks, but there's no way he's telling Jared that right now. "It's your call, Jared, but yeah, I think you do."

"Shit." There's no sound for a moment but Jared's breathing. Then he says, "Okay, yeah. I'll see you Friday night."

"Jared, you're gonna be fine," Jensen says as reassuringly as he can. "You got that?"

"Yeah, I…I do. I trust you, Jensen. So…thanks." 

Startled, Jensen tries to make a reply, but Jared is already gone.

He lies back against the pillows, stunned. Of all of the motivations he could have thought of for Jared to decide to make a break for it, _another_ Class 1 aug had never crossed his mind. And why this guy has suddenly put his life in Jensen's hands—he's not sure he understands that, either.

Jensen sets his jaw. He's going to get Jared out of here and to safety. And then he's going to make it his new job to keep this from happening to anyone else, ever again.

The next three days are an absolute blur. Jensen finishes up all of his existing projects without making it appear that he's doing so, claiming to every client that he has a huge project coming up for another client and he'll let them know when he has free time to take on new work. No one complains; he does good work, and some of them even sound pleased that they have a consultant who's so well-regarded that he's constantly in demand.

He prepares a few written messages for Misha to distribute once they're well on their way. He doesn't dare say anything that sounds like goodbye, but he does call his parents and update them on the last few months of his life. He wonders what they would think if he told them he was going to get on the Railroad himself. They've never really approved of his illegal activities, whether the blocker or his more subversive actions, but they would never do anything to stop him, he knows that. Still, it's a risk he can't take, for his sake or Jared's, and when he hangs up with them, he feels oddly empty.

Maybe they'll be relieved that he's safe, once it's all over. Jensen holds on to that thought.

Friday night comes and he's a bundle of nerves. There are so many preparations to make, and everything has to be done just right, or the consequences could be disastrous. He packs his bag with clothing and food; he has very few material mementos, so there isn't much anguishing over which ones to take. He wipes the electronic drives in his house as the next-to-last step, feeling more than a little pang at the years of work he's erasing, and then he sits down to wait for Jared.

Right at ten, the front door buzzes. Jensen runs a scan through the front door and sees Jared's tall figure, shoulders hunched against the drizzle. Jensen frowns. At least it's not raining _too_ hard. 

He uses his outside surveillance system to scan up and down the street and it comes up clear. If anyone's following Jared, they aren't doing it in force, and Jensen relaxes a fraction. Maybe they can actually pull this off.

The door buzzes again and Jensen quickly opens it. "Come on in."

Jared enters with a quick, small smile. "Hi."

"Hey." Jensen closes and locks the door, then turns to look Jared over. He has a different coat on, this one a long, dark wool number with the pockets stuffed full. He has a backpack slung over one shoulder, also bursting at the seams. He's wearing thin gloves and Jensen nods approvingly. It's getting cold enough that gloves will be needed at night anyway, and Jared's hand and arm would make him very hard to miss.

Jared's biting his lip, eyes wide and worried. "Is everything okay?"

Jensen gives him a reassuring smile. "Everything's all set." Before he can talk himself out of it, he leans forward and gives Jared a kiss. 

Jared makes a startled noise, but he kisses Jensen back. When they draw apart, he looks a little more relaxed, if a little sad. "So, what do I have to do?"

"Follow me." Jensen lifts his pack from the floor and shoulders it.

Jared blinks, confused. "You're coming along?"

Jensen shrugs and gives him a cocky smile. "I've always wanted to travel and see the world."

"Jensen, you can just tell me where to go. I don't—I mean, I don't mind seeing more of you, but I didn't think you were going to guide me anywhere."

"I'm not." Jensen draws in a breath. "Guiding you. I'm going all the way."

Jared opens his mouth to protest, but Jensen holds up a hand. "We can talk about it later. Right now, we have to go." Jared still looks mutinous, so Jensen adds, "It really _is_ my choice, okay?"

Jared glares for a moment longer and then reluctantly nods.

"All right. Come on and do what I tell you when I tell you, okay?" At Jared's nod, Jensen turns and leads him towards the back of the warehouse. He rarely goes back this far; there's piles of dead equipment that he's scavenged for parts, that questionable section of flooring, and lots of darkness. He follows a narrow path between piles of junk, beside a thin black thread winding along the ground, to a ring set in the floor. He gives it a yank, revealing a ladder heading downward. "After you."

Jared looks dubious, but he hitches his pack up on his shoulders and starts down. His coat sleeves stretch down his arms as he descends, but he must have some really long sleeves, because Jensen can't see a sign of metal or flesh at his wrists. _Good_ , he thinks. Jared's put some thought into this, and that makes their odds infinitesimally higher.

Jensen waits until the way is clear and then starts down himself. He pauses with his head sticking out of the trapdoor, looking back at the living space where he's spent the last three years. It's rough and impersonal, but it was home, and he's going to miss it.

Then he pulls out a lighter and flicks it to life, touching the small flame to the end of the black thread on the ground. Once it catches, he quickly pulls the door down over their heads. The lighter casts flickering shadows in the space around them, the light not extending very far. "Are you all the way down?" he calls at Jared.

"Almost," comes the reply. "How many steps?"

"No idea. Keep going." Jensen starts edging his way down, mentally counting down in his head. They have some time—he didn't cut it too close, but they still need to be out of here in a few minutes.

A moment later, there's a clang and a muffled, "Ow." Then Jared says, "Okay, yeah, I'm down."

"Good." Jensen goes more quickly when he knows he isn't going to kick Jared in the head, and soon he's got his feet on solid ground. He flicks off the lighter and for a moment they're in the pitch black dark.

"Whoa," Jared says shakily and Jensen feels a hand close over his arm. "Why'd your light go out?"

"Hang on." Jensen amps up his blocker, and soon there's a faint blue glow from behind his ear, steadily growing until it fills the space. Jared's head is taller than the top of the tunnel that stretches out behind him, but at least now he'll be able to see to avoid it. "Okay, let's go." He gives Jared a push towards the tunnel.

They walk for a few minutes until the tunnel takes a left turn, and then they pass through what looks like an old vault door. "Here, help me with this," Jensen says, and between the two of them, they slam it shut. 

"What is this place?" Jared asks, looking around at the rough brick walls of the new tunnel.

"Prohibition-era tunnel." When Jared looks at him, startled, Jensen grins. "I liked the idea of a place built on an old smuggling route. And it's a built-in escape hatch if I ever needed it."

Jared's face falls. "Jensen, if you're leaving all this because of me—"

"I thought I’d gotten out, you know?" Jensen steps closer so they can see each other more clearly in the blue glow from behind his ear. "All this time, I thought I was better than everyone else because I could block out the 'lims and know what I _really_ want. I thought I could escape the congloms and flip 'em off by running my little business for other people out on the fringe. I thought that was enough." He grabs Jared's left wrist, feeling the way it _doesn't_ give under his tight grip, reminding him why he's doing this. "But it's not. And yeah, that's something I learned because of you, but I'm glad I did."

Jared goes tense when Jensen grabs him, but his eyes track back and forth between Jensen's as he speaks. Despite the blue light on them, they're a sea green color, darkening to mossy brown. "So what now?"

"I can't do what I want to do from here," Jensen replies, voicing for the first time what he's been thinking these past few weeks. "I can't help you, and other people like you who must be out there, if I'm hiding out here. There are people up north I can hook up with who can help me do this right. But first we've got to get there."

When Jensen falls silent, Jared gives him a tentative smile. "You're really something."

Jensen shakes his head. "Not even."

"Are you sure, Jensen? Are you absolutely certain about this?"

He gives Jared that same cocky grin, timing it perfectly against the countdown in his head. "Doesn't matter. I can't go back now."

Jared cocks his head, but before he can ask, there's a _whump_ and a _bang_ from somewhere behind them. The walls tremble around them, dust flying into the air. "What the hell?" Jared asks, bracing himself against the bricks.

"That's the problem with squatting in an old building." Jensen winks at him as the tremors subside. "Never know when the gas main might up and explode."

Jared stares at him. "Wait, you _blew up your house_?"

"There's years' worth of data stored in some of my equipment, no matter how many ways I try to erase it. No better way to get rid of it all, make sure no one can be traced from me." Jensen shrugs. "I am gonna miss that kitchen, though."

Jared's staring at him like he's insane. Then he blinks a few times, a furrow forming across his forehead. Jensen stays silent, letting him process how serious this is. "What if the fire gets put out before it burns everything you want it to?" he finally asks.

Jensen scoffs. "You think I pay for fire protection? The only thing that's going to put it out is the rain, and a little drizzle won't do much."

Jared looks at him long enough that Jensen finally gets uncomfortable. "C'mon," he finally says, turning around and starting down the tunnel. "We've got a long way to go."

The rest of that night is a blur in Jensen's memory: finding Misha at the abandoned hospital where they'd agreed to meet, climbing in his van and riding for a couple of hours to the edge of town, stumbling out and following him into the basement of a long-empty suburban tract home. Blackout curtains on the windows make it safe to turn on the lights, or possible to sleep during the day. Misha gives them instructions for the next leg of the journey, and Jensen winces when he realizes that it's going to be like this from here on out: trusting that the stranger at the next station will in fact be on their side, that the Railroad hasn't been infiltrated by the congloms and that they aren't walking into a trap.

He takes a deep breath and thanks Misha, gives him a big hug that takes both of them by surprise. Jared is more reserved, but still effusive in his thanks, and Misha shoots Jensen a quick, knowing glance as he heads for the door.

They curl up on the two twin beds in the basement and sleep away the day. Travel is going to have to be at night, at least until they get into the more remote areas of the Rockies. Jensen doesn't know the route for sure, but he has a vague idea, and heading for the parts of the country that always were a little anti-establishment makes sense. 

He sets his internal alarm for ten, and when it goes off, he sits up rubbing his eyes, ready to get on with the day. Night. Whatever.

Jared's already awake, sitting across the room on a low red ottoman that's not as dusty as the rest of the furniture. Jared's heavy coat is draped over the foot of the bed near him, and he's wearing a v-neck, dark brown shirt that's almost the same shade as his hair. 

That's not what catches Jensen's eye, though. 

What catches his eye is the gleam of Jared's left arm, bared to above the elbow where the sleeve is pushed up. Jared's got his hand raised, curled in a loose fist, and he's staring at the back of his hand. 

Jensen's gaze trails down the arm, and he realizes abruptly that it doesn't all look the same. The hand is opaque brushed metal, but below the wrist it's translucent, artificial bones and sockets visible beneath the surface. That makes it even more jarring somehow, and Jensen quickly looks away, swinging his legs over the side of the cot to alert Jared to his conscious presence.

When he looks back, Jared's regarding him calmly. "How'd you sleep?" he asks quietly.

Jensen clears his throat. "Fine. How 'bout you?"

A faint trace of a smile ghosts across Jared's face. "I might have slept at some point. I don't really know."

"Everything all right?" Jensen asks, nodding at his upraised arm. It occurs to him that he doesn't know how Jared takes care of it—does it have to be oiled? Can it get wet?

"As all right as it ever is," Jared mutters. He shrugs and lowers his arm. "Thought I should start getting used to it, you know? I've been covering it up all the time. Couldn't stand to see it if I didn't have to." He shakes his head. "It feels more real now, though. Like—like it's really happened to me. Like there's no going back. This is what I am now."

"Hey." Jensen crosses the room and sits down on the bed next to the ottoman. "It's not _what_ you are. It's not even _who_ you are, okay?" Jared bites his lip but doesn't otherwise respond, and Jensen goes on, "And you take all the time you need to get used to it. No one's gonna force you, least of all me. No one's gonna ask questions, no one's gonna look too close, not on the Railroad. You can wear that coat and gloves the whole time, if you want. Probably gonna need to, anyway, given how fucking cold it's going to be."

Jared looks up at him, close enough to touch, confusion clouding his eyes. "Is everyone like you?"

"What do you mean?" Jensen asks, puzzled.

"Everyone at work was either afraid of me, because they thought they could be next, or they were thrilled that it was working so well. None of them saw anything but the aug, like that was what I had become." Jared slowly shakes his head. "But not you. You talk to me like I'm still _me_."

The wonder in his voice is enough to break Jensen's heart. He reaches out and brushes Jared's hair off his face, tucking a strand behind his ear, and gathers his thoughts. "I get that you've been through some rough times. And I'm not saying this trip we're taking is gonna be easy, either." Jared nods, eyes searching his, and Jensen goes on, "But there's something about you—there's something I see in you, this person who's buried underneath this crap that happened to him, and sometimes he peeks out. And I don't know, but I think I could really get to like him. Like, a lot." He feels his face flushing, but he doesn't look away. If Jared's going to bare his arm for him, Jensen can suck it up and let some of his feelings show for once.

Jared gives him a tentative smile and Jensen returns it. "I think so, too, " Jared says softly.

When he leans forward and kisses Jensen, it's softer than anything they've had before. It’s exploration, not passion, although it still lights up nerve endings all over Jensen's body, makes him tilt his head so their mouths are at the right angle, lips sliding over and past each other with a delicious sensation. 

He's leaning forward, starting to get into it, when he feels a tentative touch on his face. It takes a moment to realize that the smooth sensation is Jared's aug, the skin-warm metal brushing oh-so-hesitantly along the curve of Jensen's cheek, almost but not quite cupping his jaw.

Without hesitating, he reaches up and puts his hand over Jared's, intertwining their fingers and holding him close. Jared's lips have gone still, and Jensen coaxes them back into motion, nipping at his lower lip and sliding his tongue gently over it. 

Jared makes a small noise and then is kissing him back, deep and full. His hand is flexing under Jensen's, thumb sliding over Jensen's cheek, and it's slightly weird but not unwelcome. Jensen mirrors the position, sliding his fingers up into Jared's hair and stroking over his scalp, meeting him kiss for kiss.

Part of him wants to stay here forever, but Jensen knows they have to get moving. Reluctantly, he flicks his tongue over Jared's lips one more time and pulls away. Jared's eyes are wide, his mouth kiss-swollen, and it's all Jensen can do not to dive in again.

Jared runs his fingertips over the side of Jensen's face and then pulls away, their hands still entangled. "We probably have to get going, huh?"

"Yeah." Jensen's voice is huskier than usual, and it makes Jared's eyes light up. "Pick this up when we stop for the night?"

"Absolutely." Jared squeezes his hand. "We're gonna make it, Jensen."

It's half bravado and the other half naiveté, but there's no other way Jensen can respond but, "I know we are." He squeezes back, the flex of Jared's fingers around his own making him feel strangely secure. 

He might not have known what he wanted the first time he saw Jared, and it's nothing he would have imagined for himself at the time, but now? All it feels is right.


End file.
